So DH and I are making Robbie’s bed, which is a top bunk and everyone knows changing the sheets on a top bunk is a two-person job. (Tammy, I really wish I would have listened to you, but you’re usually full of shit, but in this case you were right…bunk beds are a PITA.) Last time I tried it by myself, and I was standing on the ladder, reaching way over to the far corner and the ladder popped up and TOTALLY TURNED MY KNEE BACKWARD. Chip would’ve learned some new swear words had he been in the room, but luckily he was downstairs, probably watching an episode of SpongeBob for the bizilionest time.
So we’ve popped out the mattress and we’re stretching the fitted sheet over it and I make some casual comment about how tired I feel. (Probably because of the fact that I’m trying to cut down on the amount of Diet Coke I drink per day. I’m down from about a six-pack a day, to TWO a day. That’s a lot of missed caffeine. I’m been drinking this crap since it first came out, so that’s like what, 30 years? And I read in Prevention that drinking more than 16 oz a day can lead to kidney stones. Maybe that’s why I’m so chubby…got a kidney stone the size of one of my cats.)
DH tells me he doesn’t have any sympathy for me. Then he starts listing off why he’s MORE tired since he was at work all day and his tiredness is worth MORE because he’s the ONE WHO EARNS MONEY. So I ask him even if I broke my leg while vacuuming, then I wouldn’t get any sympathy (or should that be EARN any sympathy)? He shook his head and left the room. Luckily we were done making the bed by then.
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